


Glass Hearts

by izadreamer



Series: zexal warfare au [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V, Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Chris and Kaito especially, Crossover, Gen, Haruto is a sass master, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder, Violence, no one is really prepared for it, takes place right before Arc V starts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"You're all just children," he sneers, wild eyes glinting in the firelight. "Children made of broken rock and twisted metal, with glass hearts painted to look like stone."</em><br/> <br/>Three years ago, Heartland fell to the invaders. What is left is only rubble, but Haruto has always been prone to optimism. It's too bad the world has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Hearts

Haruto loves Heartland at night.

Admittedly, it’s an opinion that would get him labeled as crazy by most. These days, darkness is the time when you hole up in your shelter and pray for a safe night, that your lights won’t be seen and that thieves don’t think to check beneath whatever piece of rubble you use as a home.

Running into a Fusion duelist in the day is bad enough, but at night the city holds no mercy for either side. It’s hard to find pleasure in a time where you could die from either a stray Fusionist or a random piece of rubble, unseen until you split your head.

Yet, night is Haruto’s domain. His way lit only by the dull glow of Omi’s shiny eyes, the teen picks his way through the rubble, every step chosen with care. The only sound is the soft thump of his footsteps and Omi’s robotic whirr; the birds had long since left Heartland’s clouded skies for a brighter one.

He stops before a large, looming shadow, resting his hand experimentally on the side.

“What do you think, Omi?” he asks in a hushed whisper. “Is it steady?”

Omi’s light blinks twice. “Master Haruto should not be here,” she states in a monotone. “Master Haruto is breaking Christopher’s rules.”

“I hate it when you call him Christopher,” Haruto remarks absently, squatting down to peer up at the building. “I know him as just Chris. Can’t you call him that? It’s only six letters shorter.”

“Christopher is Christopher. Master Haruto is changing the subject.”

Haruto rolls his eyes, sighing softly. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He squints a bit, as though it will help him see better. “Looks pretty sturdy…”

“Master Haruto shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am,” Haruto points out cheekily, and snickers at Omi’s disproving blink. “Besides, I’m not alone, am I? You’re here.” His point made—it isn’t like Omi can ignore her own existence—he runs a hand along the building’s side, finding a good handhold and hoisting himself up.

Thankfully, Omi stays mostly silent, but releases an extremely disproving whirr. For all that Orbital’s eldest will nag and boss him around, the robot has not only grown used to Haruto’s nightly escapades, she’s learned, just as he had, how to hide herself away.

Soft sounds, soft steps, hushed voices—this is how Haruto survives Heartland’s darkness.

“Well?” he whispers down. “You coming, Omi?”

“Master Haruto is an idiot,” Omi informs him, but extends her wings and slowly pulls herself up beside him.

“Guess so,” Haruto agrees with a smile, and the rest of the journey is made in silence. Haruto finally pulls himself up on the slanted roof of the building, breathing heavily. The night is icy, and his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweaty skin as he puffs warm air onto his chilled fingers.

“Master Haruto forgot his gloves,” Omi says smugly as she settles beside him.

He bats a hand in her direction, biting back a laugh. “Rude,” he mocks quietly, then yelps when Omi shines her light in his eyes in retaliation. “Ow!”

“Why does Master Haruto insist on disobeying Omi?” Omi asks suddenly, as curious as a robot like her can be.

Haruto rubs his eyes, blinking blearily at the dark sky. “Well,” he starts conversationally, “if you squint, and the clouds are thin enough, you can see the stars.”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Omi admits. She sounds frustrated, annoyed at her lack of information.

Haruto laughs freely. This high up, he’s unlikely to be spotted by anyone lurking nearby, and he trusts Omi to get him out of any sticky situations. Besides, Fuya is always somewhere close by. Even if Haruto can’t trust that the older boy to always be around to help him, he will always trust Fuya with his life.

“You weren’t around then,” he tells her cheerfully. “But before—” He cuts himself off, his breath hitching. Before is painful to talk about, painful to remember. However, Omi doesn’t deserve his angst, so he swallows back the lump in his throat and continues. “Well… you couldn’t really see the stars. Too many lights.”

“Christopher and Master Kaito will be annoyed,” Omi says finally, “that you break their rules for a stupid reason, idiot Master Haruto.”

Haruto snorts, exasperated. “Yeah, yeah.”

The conversation dies with that, and the next half hour is spent in the suffocating silence of the night, staring up at the dark sky. Haruto searches the clouds for any gaps, and smiles when he spots the stars. Omi’s lights dim to an almost non-existent glow, her own illusion of sleep.

When the dark sky slowly but surely starts to lighten is when Haruto finally moves, shifting out of his comfortable position and stretching out his arms. “Hey, Omi,” he whispers, nudging her with his elbow. Her lights flicker back on full force, but Haruto has already turned away, clamoring to his feet and crawling carefully to the far edge. “Come here.”

She rolls up next to him where they face the edge of the city, streaks of light starting to shine behind the distant mountains. Slowly, the sun rises into the sky, staining the clouds a pale gold, brightening the world little by little.

“You can’t see it that well from the Tower,” Haruto reveals quietly. His gold eyes, wide and enchanted, are fixed on the gleaming horizon. A small, subconscious smile curls his lips. For a boy of sixteen, in this moment he looks like a child once more. “For all the gloom… we still have beautiful sunrises.”

He shoots his companion a cheeky grin, finally tearing his gaze away from the skyline. “That’s worth breaking Chris’s rules for, isn’t it?”

Omi stays silent, clearly confused but reluctant to admit it, and the small smile slowly slips off Haruto’s face.

“Never mind,” he mutters. He pushes himself to his feet, walking back to the edge and beginning the long climb down. “Let’s go, Omi, before we give Chris and my brother a heart attack. I saw what I wanted.”

He keeps his voice emotionless, a careful and fragile monotone that does little to hide his disappointment. Omi trails to his side, lowering herself back onto the grimy streets, and in the quiet morning her whisper might as well be a shout.

“Stupid Master Haruto. Heartland’s sunrises are always pretty.”

It’s probably grating for her to agree with him, but her words prompt a surprised, delighted laugh from Haruto’s lips, and perhaps Omi finds she doesn’t mind that much.

***

At most, the trek back to the tower is supposed to take around an hour. With Haruto, the trips always last at least twice that amount.

He feels bad for Omi when she loses him, but it’s not enough to keep him close. As Kaito has often put it, Haruto is a restless soul. In a city of only gray skies and broken buildings, Haruto cherishes every little treasure he finds hidden amongst the rubble.

A gleam catches his eye and without a second thought Haruto turns towards it, leaving Omi to screech and beep frantically behind him. She hates his little “stunts” as she calls them, and makes her displeasure known every time he does it.

“Master Haruto is trying to escape again,” Omi chides as she rushes to catch up. “Master Haruto does not care about Omi’s feelings.”

“’Course I care about your feelings,” Haruto reassures automatically, holding up his newfound prize. It’s a silver bracelet woven in an intricate pattern, with small green gems—fake, probably—inlaid between every niche. “You think Kotori would like it?” Haruto asks, bending down so Omi can have a better look. “I mean, it’s a bit dented, but she likes green, right?”

“Master Haruto is not listening.”

Haruto squints, holds the bracelet up to the light, and squints some more. “Kotori’ll love it,” he decides, and stuffs the bracelet into the patched and worn satchel slung over his shoulder.

“Mas _ter_ Ha _ru_ to,” Omi says, deliberately stressing his name.

He looks down. “Oh, hey. Sorry. Did you want something?”

The lights of Omi’s eyes blink once. Twice. She slowly rolls backwards, then spins around and steadily heads away from her charge, silent all the while.

“Shhhhhhhh,” Haruto mutters, cutting off the swear before it can form. Omi is a massive snitch when it comes to dirty language, among other things. Thankfully, sneaking out at midnight is not one of them.

“Sorry, Omi,” he says, guilty about ignoring her. “I just… see things, get distracted, teen stuff; it’s all normal…” he trails off, a new gleam catching his eye. “Just…” he mutters half-heartedly, his head still turned in the general direction of then new object. “Just… aw, crud.” He gives the back of her head a supremely guilty look.

“Just give me a second, okay?” he pleads, and dashes off to the rubble pile by their pathway, shuffling through the dirt in search for what he’d seen.

Omi directs her gaze at the ground and then gives a very tired-sounding robotic sigh, trailing back to his side. “Master Haruto is Master Haruto,” she says, watching as he digs through the pile. His hands, already dirty, are coated in a thin layer of both dust and soot.

Finally, a couple minutes later, Haruto lifts his hand triumphantly. Clenched in his dirty palm are two round, silvery-blue earrings.

“Wasn’t what I saw originally,” Haruto admits, kicking a metal scrap away with his foot petulantly. “But this is even better, don’t you think?”

“Of course it is,” Omi states coolly. “This building used to be a jewelry store. It was burned and looted at the start of the invasion. It was once the target of a group of robberies. Everything you find here will likely be better.”

“Well that makes sense,” Haruto mutters, polishing the earrings with the end of his shirt. “It’s kind of funny what you find on the AR, huh?”

He opens his palm, showing the pair off. “Still, I got both ears. Lucky!”

“Lucky,” Omi agrees, because well. It _is_. “Who will these be for?”

Haruto frowns in thought, rolling the earrings between his fingers. Then a slow grin spreads across his face, and he gives the earrings a satisfied look, with the expression of someone who’s just had a wonderful idea.

“I know exactly who,” he gushes, so excited he practically bounces on the balls of his feet. He carefully folds the earrings in a stray cloth so as to keep them together, the giddy smile never leaving his face.

“Does that mean we can leave?” Omi asks a little hopefully, and Haruto snickers.

“Yep,” he exclaims, popping the ‘p’. “Let’s go!”

Without waiting to see if Omi will follow, he darts back down the path, a spring in his step and Omi screeching at him every step of the way.

***

They don’t get far from the ruins of the jewelry store before another distraction appears—but this time, at least Haruto has nothing to do with it.

The years have done little to Akari’s innate wildness, and as always the proof lies in the way she moves. She makes her presence known with a roar that shakes loose pebbles on the ground, dust and debris flying in her wake as her Duel Runner skids around a corner. He can hear her sharp yell of exhilaration as she skids onto the road and heads towards them.

She swerves to avoid them, driving around the two once, then twice, as she slows down and simultaneously forces them to stop. She slides her bike right before them, cutting them away from the path.

“Hey, Haruto.”

Haruto brightens, running up to her. Omi stays behind and mutters angrily about the constant distractions, but her words lack any heat.

Haruto smiles up at the older girl, relieved to see her. Synchro duelists, while most work for Tron, are not always welcomed in Heartland. Too many see them as a possible extension of Fusion, the result of one too many rogues. Akari, at east, has it easier; Synchro is the only type of dueling she knows. For someone like IV or Anna, who seem to have abandoned XYZ in favor of Synchro at Tron’s request, entering further into Heartland is a death wish.

It’s for this reason Akari and the others are usually forced to patrol the Edge, the every-changing line between XYZ territory and the parts of Heartland under the control of Academia. The Edge is one of the most dangerous places in all of Heartland, and every time there’s a lull in communication from the Synchro duelists to the Tower, the worst possible situations are the first to come to mind.

Lately, news from them had been scarce, but the small, fond smile on Akari’s face as she pries off her helmet and shakes out her long, tangled mass of hair reassures him nothing terrible has befallen them.

“Hey, Akari. How’s the Edge?” Haruto asks, cheerful. If nothing else, he can gain information from this. Surely that will prompt Chris to let him off easy, right?

Haruto can hope.

“We’re gaining ground,” Akari declares proudly, a savage gleam in her eye. Fusion has taken much from her, and as much as it goes against her “idiot brother’s” philosophy, revenge is sweet. “Although we’ve had a bit of trouble with a Fusion user lately. It’ll probably be resolved soon, it always is.”

“That’s good,” Haruto agrees. Single duelists are usually small-fry, too rebellious and bloodthirsty for Academia’s higher ups to handle. Haruto speculates that they’re released in Heartland for the purpose of causing random destruction and teaching the other soldiers to abbey orders.

He leans back, stuffing his hands into his pockets—it’s always unbelievably chilly in the winter—and frowns up at her as a new thought occurs to him. “What are you doing so close to Heartland Tower anyway?”

Akari yawns and leans against her bike. “I’m not _that_ close,” she protests. “Besides, our communicators were glitching because IV and Carla messed around with them. I needed to grab new ones.” She pats the pack tied to her Duel Runner. “Which I just did.”

“Ahhh,” Haruto says, a little sheepish. “Makes sense.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Akari agrees, propping a hand on her hip. “My turn for questions. What are you doing so _far_ from the Tower, Haruto?”

“I can explain,” Haruto defends immediately, then pauses. “Um.”

Her glare, though lacking in heat, is still enough to make him cringe. “That’s what I thought.”

Haruto’s mind switches from ‘deny deny deny everything’ to ‘plan B’, and he clasps his hands before him and bows lows from the waist, looking up at Akari with pleading eyes. Their effectiveness has dwindled little with age, but one fact that remains is that the ‘kicked-puppy’ look is usually 100% effective with older siblings. “Pleeeaaassseee don’t tell Chris?”

Akari’s mildly annoyed expression shifts with indecision, and Haruto counts it as a victory when she finally glances away, uncomfortable. “Fine,” she grumbles reluctantly, and gives the dusty ground the evil eye as though it had somehow influenced her choice.

Haruto cheers, throwing an exaggerated fist into the air and dancing around in a circle, relieved. Chris is frightening when he’s angry. Any chance to avoid his wrath is a welcome one.

Akari eyes him, contemplating, a wicked glint entering her gaze. “He probably already knows,” she interrupts casually.

Haruto stops mid-spin, his fist hanging awkwardly in the air. “…Does he?”

She shrugs, a small smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “Mizael does, anyway. He told me to tell you that ‘sneaking out is only successful if you remember to close your window’, or something along those lines.”

Haruto slaps a hand over his face, a sense of great shame washing over him. “Shit,” he mutters. “Knew I forgot something.”

Omi gasps dramatically at his uncharacteristic swear; Haruto waves vaguely in her general direction in a half-aborted ‘shh shhh’ movement. For her part, Akari laughs at them and their antics, absently checking her watch and grimacing at what she finds.

“I’m running late,” she says, swinging back onto her Duel Runner. Instead of driving off, however, she twists in her seat, digging something out of her pack.

A small bunch of flowers, crumpled but whole, are dropped into Haruto’s open palms, and he stares at them, only half-comprehending.

“I couldn’t find time to drop them off,” Akari explains, subdued. “Could you stop by the Memorial for me on your way back?” She pauses. “You know which ones.”

Haruto studies the flowers sadly, his cheer fading. He carefully places them on the top of his pack so they won’t be crushed, nodding automatically to her words. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a little bitterly. “I know.”

Akari smiles at him, a little sad and a little wistful, before running a quick, fond hand through his hair. “Thanks, kid. I owe you one.” Her bike roars to life but she doesn’t leave quite yet, hesitating.

“Be careful, okay?” she asks, and her voice is soft and pained. “Promise me.”

There are times, like now, when Haruto suspects Yuma’s disappearance took a greater toll on Akari than she pretends. Her actions towards him and the other younger recruits remind him of Kaito, back when Haruto was still a child. He wonders if some small part of her sees them as replacements, as new little brothers and sisters. Ones that she won’t fail, not like how she failed Yuma.

“I promise,” he says, because maybe some part of him sees her like a sister too, and Akari’s smile grows a little more joyful and a little more genuine.

“But then again, I’m always careful!” he adds hastily, and as Akari drives away, he can hear her bark of laughter over the rumble of her motorcycle, caught by the wind and ripped from her throat.

Omi rolls up to his side as Haruto watches Akari leave until she’s far from view, batting against his leg. “I’m telling Christopher you swore. Bad Master Haruto.”

“What am I, a dog?” Haruto asks jokingly, but his voice falls flat and he sighs. “Never mind.” He spins on his heel and changes directions, already mentally calculating the new route. “Let’s hurry, Omi. I want to get back before noon.”

“To the Memorial?” Omi asks, and Haruto runs a weary hand down his face, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah,” he mutters. “To the Memorial.”

***

The Memorial is a gravestone. It is also a work of art.

Whoever it is who created it, Haruto doesn’t know. He’s only seen him once, a thin, spindly man with bright red hair and a long nose; sad, drooping eyes and clothed in rags head-to-toe. He’d nodded to Haruto then, gathered up his paints and left. It had rained that day.

Haruto doesn’t like to think about it.

The Memorial is—was—a wall, which expanded to the surrounding walls and then the area itself. It had started just after the first invasion with a single painting—Yuma and the undefined, ghostly form of Astral, their painted hands reaching for the sky, small, hopeful smiles on their faces, and Hope’s golden wings painted beautifully on Yuma’s back. The symbolism is touching, if painful to recognize.

With every new death, with every loss, the wall lengthens. Some are missing, of that Haruto is sure, but the mysterious painter works tirelessly to carve every face into stone. He paints each and every single one of the fallen smiling, as if death has given them a freedom and joy Haruto can barely remember.

It is Heartland’s only graveyard, their only solace. For all the meaning it gives some, Haruto tries to avoid it as much as possible. He hates how many faces he recognizes and fears the day more will appear.

The Memorial brings back memories Haruto has tried to bury for the last three years, and every time he steps foot in the place it takes an alarming amount of self-control to keep calm.

Today, perhaps, is even worse. It looks like it might rain, and coupled with the painted, smiling faces of the dead it is enough to trigger memories Haruto has become a master at hiding behind smiles.

Omi hovers by his side, obviously worried. “Maybe Master Haruto should leave,” she starts, cautiously. “Today is not a good day…”

Haruto had hesitated at the entrance, the flowers taken from his pack and clutched tightly in his fist, his gaze far-off and haunted, but now he snaps himself out of his daze. He smiles, but even he is unsure whether it’s real or not. The last three years have forced Haruto to learn how to hide his emotions—sometimes, even from himself.

“Nah,” he says, his deliberately light tone strangled. “I’m… I’m fine, Omi. Besides,” he adds, a little stronger, drawing back his shoulders and lifting his chin, “I promised Akari I’d do it.”

If Omi could scowl, Haruto has no doubt she would, but instead the robot settles with a displeased beep and a flatly unconvinced, “If you say so, Master Haruto.”

He doesn’t answer, just nods, and the two enter the Memorial, a solemn silence hanging over them.

Jewels and carved stones litter the floor, decayed and fresh flowers mingled in with the lot. Not everyone can afford or even find flowers these days, and gems and stones have become equal in status. Haruto glances briefly at the few people milling about the area, then catches sight of the paintings and determinedly fixes his eyes back to the ground.

It doesn’t take long to reach the first stop at the second wall. Kazuma and Mirai Tsukumo are painted hand in hand, their life-like eyes crinkled in silent laughter. Haruto sets down the first two flowers at their feet and remains there, kneeling. The urge to speak comes over him, and the words fall out, stumbling past his lips clumsily.

“She grew up to be one of the bravest people I know,” Haruto mumbles finally. “She… she’s so strong. I hope…I _know_ you’re proud of her. You should be.” He hesitates, unsure if he should say more, but then draws away, uncomfortable.

Lingering at the spot for a moment more, he finally leaves. He moves slowly towards the next stop, a painting of a young man with spiky black hair, a surprisingly warm smile on his narrowed face.

Haruto places a flower down at his feet too, and says, “You gave her hope then, and you give her hope now. …Thanks.”

He doesn’t linger at this grave. He hadn’t known Yamikawa well, and anything else he could say for Akari has probably already been said.

Haru is the next painting, and Haruto tears up at little, looking up at her tiny form. He’d only met her twice, but he’s never forgotten the kindness she’d shown him that day, or the wonderful meal she’d served. Another flower leaves the bunch, and for her Haruto leaves a simple, “Thank you for the meal.”

He walks away, blinking back tears and steeling himself for the last stop.

He puts two flowers for Yuma and Astral, one for each. While Akari had never met Astral personally, she’d always honored their friendship, albeit grudgingly. He doesn’t know what to say at Yuma’s grave, because some part of Haruto hopes that somewhere out there, Yuma and Astral are still alive. Saying something at their memorial seems too final, disrespectful or not.

He ends up not saying anything at all, and it’s then that he realizes. Clutched in his hand, still remaining, are two leftover flowers.

Omi titters by his side. “Meddlesome woman.”

“That’s rude,” Haruto remarks, but his eyes are fixed on the remaining flowers. He rolls the stems between his fingers, eyes unfocused.

“Should we go, Master Haruto?” Omi asks, uncertain. She is well aware of Haruto’s dislike of the Memorial, but she also knows why. She may not understand—her entire family is alive and well, after all—but she can accept his reasons.

He doesn’t answer right away, staring off into the distance and thinking it over. Finally he sighs, bringing up a hand and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m already in trouble with Chris,” he allows, grudgingly. “It’s not like it can get any worse… no, Omi. Let’s… let’s go visit my dead.”

***

In a way, Haruto is lucky—his dead can be counted on one hand. For others, they have more dead then they have fingers and toes. However, in the end a loss is a loss, and the pain is shared equally. No one wants to make death a contest.

Haruto visits his father first, partly because Faker is closer to Yuma and Astral and partly because it’s still a wonder that he’s even there in the first place.

Faker had died long before the First Invasion, leaving Kaito and Haruto to Heartland’s gleaming lights and bright laughter. If he had known what Heartland would soon become, Haruto wonders if he would have gone so easily.

By all accounts, Faker shouldn’t even be on the Memorial. Yet there he is, dressed in modern clothes and long lab coat, his wild hair flying in every direction. He’s wedged between a diminutive woman holding hedge clippers and a young man with a proud smirk on his face, easily blending into the sea of color that is the Memorial.

When Haruto first found his father’s painting, he was devastated. There’d been something final and heartbreaking in seeing Faker like that, calm and smiling without a care beside all the newly dead. Kaito had been with him then, and Haruto has never forgotten the shadows in his brother’s eyes or the way his hand tightened painfully over Haruto’s own.

 _“His inventions saved lives during the invasion,”_ Kaito told him later, once they’d calmed down some. _“That’s probably why he’s up there.”_

Haruto no longer cares about the reasons for Faker’s inclusion to the Memorial, only that he is there, and sets down one of the flowers at his father’s painted shoes.

“Hey, Dad,” Haruto mutters, and the words are awkward on his tongue. At a loss for words, he doesn’t continue, and after another long moment of heavy silence, he clenches the last flower in his fist and turns away. They’ve already said their goodbyes, he and Kaito, and anything else would be meaningless.

The last of Haruto’s dead is the reason he avoids the Memorial. Petite, pink-haired, and young, Dog-chan stands pitifully small on the Memorial. Her smile is good-natured and friendly; her tiny form is dwarfed by the taller and older individuals surrounding her.

They’d met in the early stages of the Invasion, just after Haruto had convinced Mizael to teach him how to really, truly duel. There were few others Haruto’s age, and most had been either too damaged or too frightened of Mizael and Kaito to approach him. Dog-chan, shy and sweet, had been a welcome friend.

Haruto remembers their practice duels, how she’d been able to talk to dogs like her mentor Cathy could comminute with cats. They’d make up random games whenever they were bored, steal pieces of chalk from Chris and Kaito and doodle on concrete. At night, they’d clamor onto roofs and tell any stories that came to mind, their way lit by flashlights. Dog-chan had loved to tell Aesop’s fables; Haruto had recounted every scary story he knew as dramatically as possible.

She’d died half a year later, struck down by a rogue Academia member on their first practice mission.

He places the last and final flower at her Velcro-covered feet and sits cross-legged in front of her. The last time he’d come to the Memorial was when her image was being painted. The rain had fallen for hours; the painter took Haruto’s picture of Dog-chan with weary hands and a bitter smile.

He’s struck with sudden nausea, bile rising in his throat. Haruto slaps a hand over his mouth and jumps to his feet, his eyes blurring with tears. His mind races, and all he can think about is how small and broken she looked lying on that grimy street, her blood pooling beneath her, her eyes wide open and unseeing. He runs away from the Memorial wall, stumbling and sick. His throat burns, and he can feel his heartbeat rising, the blood pounding in his ears. His vision blurs with red, angry and bright.

He half-hears a surprised cry and then Haruto slams into someone, sending them both sprawling. The shock of hitting the ground snaps him out of his episode, and he curls up, too wired to spare a thought for the other. Instead, he tucks his head between his legs and wraps his arms around himself, focusing on breathing.

“Haruto? Is that you?”

A soft voice, musical and lilting, jolts him out of his morose memories. Haruto looks up weakly, recognizing the speaker already, a forced smile already forming on his lips. He meets the concerned gaze of the former idol Sanagi, and it takes a monumental effort to keep the wavering smile on his face.

“Hi,” Haruto says hoarsely.

Sanagi stares down at him, her eyes wide with worry as she crouches down and slowly reaches out to him. “Haruto… Haruto, are you alright?”

He breathes in and out a couples times. “Not really.”

She finally breaches the gap, carefully placing her hand on his shoulder. There’s a scrap on her arm from when Haruto had knocked her over, and her bright eyes are red from crying. “Oh Haruto,” she whispers sadly. “Why are you here? You never come to Memorial.”

He doesn’t brush off her touch, just closes his eyes and shrugs a little. “I… Akari asked me to, and… I don’t know…” A small beep catches his attention, and he sees Omi over him, worried and hesitant. The small red light on her back blinks repetitively. She hasn’t alerted Chris yet, and he takes a small comfort from that. “I thought… thought I could handle it…”

“Sometimes people need time,” Sanagi murmurs, and her eyes glance subconsciously back to where she’d come. “The amount of time we need, though… is different for everyone.” She rubs his shoulder comfortingly. “Can you stand?”

Haruto takes a deep breath, counts to seven, and lets it out slowly. “I can try.”

“Don’t push yourself, Master Haruto,” Omi warns, as Sanagi helps him climb to his feet.

Haruto brushes off the dirt and gives the robot a weak smile. “I’m fine now, Omi. It was just a minor relapse.”

Omi chirps in irritation, and even Sanagi gives him a disbelieving stare. Haruto ignores both of them.

“All right,” Sanagi says finally, though her tone makes it clear she isn’t buying any of it. “Well, besides that, how are you?”

“Alive?” Haruto offers, then sighs. “Sorry. I’m not… really in a talking mood.”

She frowns at him, not annoyed but worried. She places a hand under his chin and tilts his head from side to side, her frown deepening. “You look exhausted,” she notes, then glances up at the sky. “What are you doing here so early? It’s barely nine!”

“That’s not early,” he protests.

“It is when you look like you haven’t slept for a week!” Sanagi exclaims. “Honestly, Haruto. What have you been doing?”

He scowls and glances away, shoving his hands into his pockets, his bag whacking against his thigh. He pauses, remembering his discovery from earlier, then opens the pack and digs around. He needs a distraction, and he can’t think of anything better. Besides that, he means to give these to her regardless.

“Haruto?” Sanagi asks, then blinks in surprise when Haruto holds out his findings.

The two blue earrings glint in his palm, and he smiles, a little more genuine. “Finding gifts,” he says.

Sanagi takes the earrings in wonder, successfully distracted from the earlier conversation. “Oh, Haruto… where did you get these?”

“An old jewelry store,” Haruto says, watching her. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Sanagi assures, closing her hand around them. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“And Haruto—”

“I know,” he interrupts, absently kicking at a few pebbles. “I… I’ll work on it, get some sleep, whatever.”

Sanagi still doesn’t look pleased, but she shakes her head and lets it go with a sigh. That’s what Haruto likes about her. For all that Sanagi will look out for them and try her best to make people smile, she knows when to give it up. She has her own baggage after all, and some things are better left un-confronted.

“Well,” Haruto says, giving her a small wave. “I should go, before Chris has a heart attack or something.”

Sanagi pauses, startled. “Ahh—let me walk you back, at least…”

Haruto blanches, stumbling back a few steps and waving his hands frantically. Sanagi isn’t part of the Elite, or the people who watch over them, but she is familiar with many of its members. Haruto has a better chance of convincing Omi to stay quiet, but if Sanagi comes with him he knows Chris will hear about his breakdown within an hour. “Oh no, really, that’s fine, _please_ don’t…”

“But—”

“Seriously, I’m _fine._ I have Omi and everything.”

Sanagi hesitates. “I can’t just… I mean you gave that wonderful gift and all. It’s the least I can do…”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Haruto presses, backing away further and shaking his head vehemently. “Really, Sanagi, you don’t have to do anything.”

“If you won’t let her walk you back, what about me?” a new voice asks, and that’s all the warning Haruto gets before a heavy arm slings across his shoulders and knocks him to the ground.

***

As it turns out, Haruto had not, in fact, been “fine”, and instead had been quite shaky, which is the only reason Alit’s cheerful greeting had quite literally knocked him off his feet.

Stunned and a little overwhelmed by Alit’s rapid-fire apologies, it takes Haruto a full minute to regain his bearings. Sanagi hovers over him worriedly, trying to hide a smile behind her hand, her other hand resting on Alit’s shoulder, the only barrier keeping Haruto on the ground and not six feet in the air.

“Okay,” Haruto says, cutting Alit off on what must be apology number 53. “Okay. I’m okay.”

“I threw a hand over your shoulder and you fell like a bag of bricks,” Alit says incredulously. “Haruto. Kid. That’s not ‘okay’.”

Haruto waves a hand, and makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds similar to “ehhhhhhhh….”

Sanagi presses a hand against her eyes and Alit looks at Omi with an expression that can only be described as, “really?”

Omi, for her part, nods sagely. Alit wilts.

“My offer still stands,” Alit says finally, helping Haruto back to his feet with an apologetic grimace. “I’ll walk you back to base.”

Haruto winces. Alit hadn’t seen his breakdown, at least he hopes not. Still, some small part of Haruto had hoped to sneak back before Mizael got around to telling Chris about his disappearance.

“You really don’t—”

Alit claps a gentle hand on his shoulder, an amused tilt to his smile. “I insist.”

Haruto stares then nods slowly, realization dawning. “Mizael sent you.”

Alit shrugs, unapologetic. “I was coming anyway.” He gives Sanagi a smile, which she returns. “And we haven’t visited Gilag in a while.”

Haruto glances at both of them, but he’s already resigned himself to the inevitable conclusion. “I… don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Alit proclaims cheerfully, dragging Haruto towards the base. “Not at all.”

Sanagi follows close behind, giggling when Haruto mouths “help me” at her. “Sorry, Haruto,” she says, and Haruto hates how she sounds genuine, because it makes it hard to stay mad at her.

“I’ll forgive you,” Haruto allows graciously, “if you promise not to tell Chris or Mizael about…” He glances meaningfully at Alit and then back where Dog-chan’s painting is. “Earlier.”

She bites her lip uncertainly, ignoring the curious glance Alit gives them both. “Haruto…”

“Please?”

Sanagi sighs, looking away. “All right. Just this one time.”

Haruto relaxes, smiling in relief. “Thank you,” he says, and means it.

By this time, Alit is giving both of them confused looks, but the former Barian keeps his mouth shut. Time and war have given Alit a respect for the secrets and unsaid promises that bind many of the Numbers Force together.

“C’mon, kid,” the older boy says instead, steering Haruto by the arm as Omi follows close behind him. “Let’s get you back to base.”

Reluctant and resigned, Haruto follows.

***

Mizael greets them at the door.

Physically, not much has changed for Mizael—he’s a little taller, his hair a little longer, but other than a few slight differences, he looks much as he did when Haruto had been a child. The major variances can only be noticed by one who knows him well: the dark shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders slump with exhaustion, the ragged look about him.

He’s leaning against the frame, looking annoyed and fiddling absently with his jewelry when he spots them. His bored air is replaced with a dark scowl, but he doesn’t move away from the wall, just crosses his arms and watches them approach.

Haruto tries and fails not to notice how tired Mizael appears, his hair a tangled, unkempt mess and his clothing wrinkled beyond what he’d usually allow. Mizael had always seemed like epitome of mental and emotional strength to Haruto, even when he’d been their enemy. Seeing his proud mentor lean against the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet is more than enough to drive Haruto back into a foul mood.

“I’d say you’re late,” Mizael finally calls out when they’re only a few feet away, “but that would imply you were meant to be out in the first place.”

Alit coughs into his elbow to hide a laugh while Sanagi smiles sweetly at the irritated Barian. Haruto kicks at the ground and mutters, “Nice to see you too.”

“Brat,” Mizael responds, clapping him gently over the head in a fond gesture. His scowl has disappeared, and though he isn’t smiling, Haruto counts it as a victory anyway. Whatever awaits him with Chris, at least Mizael isn’t truly angry. Haruto can handle Chris. Mizael is a different story altogether.

“I try,” Haruto admits chirpily. “Though it’s usually effortless.”

Alit breaks in before Mizael can respond, long-since used to Mizael’s and Haruto’s daily banter. He has spent enough time in their company to know it’s wise to intervene before it can deteriorate to petty insults.

“Right, then,” Alit exclaims, deliberately cheery as he pushes his way between them. Behind him, Sanagi giggles into her hand. “I found your runaway pupil, just like you asked!” he pauses, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t see why you didn’t ask Cathy though.”

Mizael shrugs, sidetracked from their argument. “I couldn’t find her, and Tron wasn’t in what you’d call a sharing mood.” He gives Haruto an exasperated look, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Thanks for finding him, regardless. There wasn’t any trouble, _right_?”

At that, he gives Haruto a meaningful look, which is, in Haruto’s humble opinion, entirely unwarranted. Haruto may have rightfully earned the reputation of being a troublemaker, but he’s not _that_ bad.

Alit, to Haruto’s rising concern, hesitates. His eyes flicker from Haruto and Sanagi and back again. It’s with a sinking comprehension that Haruto realizes he’d forgotten to ask Alit to stay silent. He has no idea how much of their conversation the other had overheard.

“Well…” Alit mutters, but then he catches Sanagi’s eye and pauses again. The two stare at each other, silent. Alit looks away first.

“Not that I know of,” Alit says finally, in a resigned tone. Mizael frowns at him, brows furrowed, obviously trying to puzzle out why Alit had hesitated.

“Well!” Haruto says jauntily. He looks Mizael in the eyes, keeping his voice steady and his hands still. “See? No trouble.”

Mizael still looks doubtful—three years of dealing with Haruto has given him a pretty good grasp of when Haruto is lying to him—so Haruto forces a smile and adds, “I’m a good rule-breaker, promise.”

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Haruto is certain Mizael has seen through his lie. But then the moment ends and Mizael huffs and breaks eye contact, rolling his eyes dramatically towards the heavens. The look on his face is one Haruto has seen many times before, after one too many dealings with a sleep-deprived Kaito.

“ _Fantastic_ ,” Mizael says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, Haruto. Do you even try?”

Haruto stretches his smile wider to hide both his relief and the sharp sting from Mizael’s wayward comment. He hates disappointing Mizael, but he’d hate the repercussions from his momentary relapse even more.

“Sorry,” Haruto replies, which is only partially true. Omi, who has since remained silent, gives a disproving chirp from behind him. Without looking back, Haruto carefully kicks out his foot, whacking into her warningly.

Mizael runs a hand through his tangled hair, scowling when the knots catch on his fingers. “Just walk quietly up to the control room and I’ll accept your apology.”

Haruto freezes, his face a mask of terror. In the commotion with his relapse, he has completely forgotten the reason he’s been procrastinating in the first place—Chris.

Chris, who likes to harp on about Haruto’s faults for hours. Chris, who Haruto never seems to please. Chris, with whom every conversation is as boring as a brick wall.

 _Damn_ , Haruto thinks.

“Sorry?” he attempts again, already backing away. His eyes flicker to and fro, searching for an easy exit. All Haruto can hope for is that Alit and Sanagi will let him go.

“You will be,” Mizael mutters, and snags the back of Haruto’s shirt before he can bolt. “Nice try, but no.”

“Not even if I say please?” Haruto implores, curious. It’s not likely to succeed, but he’s desperate. Haruto hates lectures. And Chris… well, Chris likes to lecture.

Mizael raises one eyebrow at him and scoffs. “Listen, _you_ try listening to Chris harp on about idiotic teenagers for two hours, and I might consider it.”

Haruto makes a face. “Ugh.”

Alit chooses this time to intervene, deliberately stepping between them and inadvertently forcing Mizael to release his hold on Haruto’s shirt.

“Right!” he states, honestly cheerful in a way that seems somewhat deliberate but also completely genuine. “So, I’m pretty sure we all have stuff we need to do… and you know, Chris isn’t going to be happy if you waste any more time.” This he directs to Mizael, who grumbles under his breath half-heartedly in response.

Haruto stares at him, feeling somewhat betrayed. “ _Thanks_ , Alit.”

Alit just beams, unabashed. “Sorry, Haruto, but we do have lives we all need to get back to.” He goes to Sanagi’s side, grabbing her arm and gently beginning to pull her away. “Which is our cue to go. We’ve got stuff to do, remember?”

“I know, I know,” Sanagi sighs, but her eyes are still fixed on Haruto, worried and uncertain.

Mizael waves a hand. “Just go,” he says, “and thanks for finding him.”

Alit gives a mock bow and a tip of a hat he doesn’t have, still steering Sanagi away. “No problem,” he calls back, and then the two have rounded the corner out of sight. The last Haruto hears from them is Sanagi, troubled and guilty, asking, “We didn’t get Haruto in trouble, right?”

Haruto turns back to Mizael. “Well, you heard her,” he prompts. “I’m not in too much trouble, right?”

“With me? No. Only if you try and run off now.”

Haruto bites his lip. “And… what about Chris?”

Mizael huffs, annoyed again. “Well,” he says, and doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t need to.

“I’m dead,” Haruto groans. “ _Dead_.”

Mizael rolls his eyes. “Just… nod and agree with everything he says. Maybe he’ll forgive you.”

“Deader than dirt.”                 

Mizael shoots him an irritated look. “Haruto. Stop.”

Haruto sighs, waving a hand. “I know, I know. No theatrics in public.” He pauses. “So, what was your advice again…?”

Mizael shrugs a sort of “hell-if-I-know” gesture, pushing off the wall and heading inside. Haruto resists the urge to sigh loudly and follows obediently after him, hurrying to catch up when Mizael’s steps quicken.

As they walk, Haruto waves to the others, smiling weakly when most shoot him knowing but sympathetic looks. He’s gained something of a reputation around the base for being a troublemaker. He has no doubt that they’ll be laughing over it later that night in BARian, once Tron forces them all to take a break and get some sleep, because “sleepless scientists are useless scientists,” in his words.

He catches a brief glimpse of Kotori—tall and imposing with her floor length lab coat and waist-length hair, small reading glasses perched on her nose and heaps of paper stacked in her arms. She doesn’t wave, obviously, but she mouths “good luck” at him and winks. Haruto takes comfort in the fact he has her support.

For all that he spends most of his time here, Haruto rarely sees many of Tower’s inhabitants. The Elite don’t stay in the Tower, just receive their orders from here. Most of them, like Akari, are scattered throughout Heartland on the outskirts of the Edge, patrolling the city. A few even look for the smaller rebel groups, one of which has been gaining many new members: the Resistance. Last Haruto heard, Tron was seeking an alliance with them.

Truthfully, Haruto is also a part of the Elite, or at least he should be. He’s certainly qualified for it, but he has Chris to blame for his lack of title. Despite his skills, Chris likes to cage Haruto within the Tower under the guise of safety.

As much as Haruto loves the original members of the Number’s Club, and as good as Kotori’s cooking tastes, he longs for the open streets far more than the sterile labs. Yet, those white walls are all he ever seems to see.

There’s a reason Haruto sneaks out, and it’s not always out of rebellion.

Without warning, a hand catches the back of his shirt, yanking him to a stop. For the second time that day, Haruto is ripped away from his wandering thoughts, and it takes him a second to regain his bearings, not to mention his balance.

“W-what?” Haruto splutters, craning his neck at an awkward angle so he can see Mizael’s face. He’s a little peeved at the rough handling, but mostly he’s just confused as to why his mentor has suddenly seen fit to do so. And besides that, hadn’t Mizael been walking ahead of him?

Mizael rolls his eyes—he seems to be doing that a lot today, Haruto thinks—unamused and a little exasperated. “We’re _here_ , Haruto.”

Haruto blinks in surprise, before whipping his head around and staring up at the familiar doors. Go through there, and Haruto knows he’ll find himself in the control room, the very place he has been trying to avoid.

The control room is where Tron resides and keeps watch over the city, handling communications and delivering orders almost non-stop. It used to be Haruto’s old room, now installed with new machinery and screens in the windows. Kaito had done most of the programming himself, and Haruto had been there with them, ready to lend a hand, a wrench, or maybe witty comment or two. And caramel, but caramel was a given.

“Oh,” Haruto says in a quiet tone. He stares up at the doors of the elevator that will take him where Tron and Chris would be waiting, his worries coming back full force.

“Oh,” Mizael agrees, somewhat sympathetically, and gently pushes him forward just as the doors start to open.

***

As far as Haruto’s concerned, Mizael and Chris are as different as black and white, night and day, fire and ice, and Haruto isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this analogy. The fact remains that it is the truth.

Mizael is white, day, fire; and in truth that description fits him better than any other Haruto can think of. Mizael is chaotic and free, scattered and rash, more likely to act on his emotions than he is logic or reason. He is blinding in his anger, reacting against everything like an extremely explosive spark, bright and burning.

He is kind too, accepting of Haruto’s many faults and tolerant of his failures. He is always patient with Haruto, just as quick to deliver praise as he is to deliver admonishment. Mizael encourages him to do his best, but doesn’t look down on him if he falls short, just helps him up.

With Mizael, Haruto wants to _try_. He wants to make Mizael proud, wants to meet his mentor’s every expectations and surpass them. With every little bit of praise Haruto receives, every “good job, kid” that he gets, his heart soars.

If Haruto can make Mizael proud, then no matter how screwed up he is, he’s at least doing something right.

Chris, on the other hand… Chris is the exact opposite.

Now, Haruto thinks bitterly, is a good example of that.

“Did you even consider the possible consequences?” Chris snaps frigidly. His piercing eyes are flinty and hard, as unfeeling as steel. He restlessly paces back and forth across the room, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his long hair whipping around his face. “For that matter, did you even think at all?”

Haruto stays sullenly silent from where he sits on the carpeted floor, knees drawn up and hugged tight to his chest. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, acutely aware of Tron’s disproving stare and the soft scuffs of Chris’s shoes against the floor.

“Well?” Chris demands.

“I just—” Haruto starts defensively, then clamps his mouth shut, glowering at the floor again. ‘I just wanted to see the sunrise’ sounds stupid and petty to his own ears, despite it being the truth, so instead he says nothing at all.

“You just _what_?” Chris demands, spinning to face him. “Go on, please enlighten me as to why you chose, once again, to sneak out and endanger your life.” His voice has lost some of its indifference, now delivered with a cruel, mocking edge. It is worse than the neutrality.

“The stars,” Haruto mumbles, his eyes flickering away from Chris and towards Mizael, who leans against the far wall silently and impassively. “…and the sunrise… I wanted to see them…”

A beat of silence. Mizael winces, just barely, and Haruto feels his heart sink.

“That’s it?” Chris says incredulously when Haruto offers no better answer. “That’s why you deliberately broke the rules, went out at night, and endangered not only your life, but ours? To see the stars?”

Haruto gives a little shrug, still looking at Mizael. “ _Well_ ,” he mutters in a small voice. “When you put it that way, it sounds stupid. But—”

“Of course it sounds stupid!” Chris retorts, cutting him off. “That’s because it _is_ stupid! It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and trust me, I’ve heard a lot over the years.”

Haruto feels like he’s being suffocated, his eyes burning with unshed tears and his throat tight. He swallows compulsively, curling his arms tighter around his knees, his fingers digging painfully into his arms. Although Haruto will break Chris’s rules with little thought of the consequences, he hates the aftermath.

“So sorry to be a disappointment,” Haruto mutters viciously, and somehow manages to keep his voice steady.

Chris’s face twists, a look Haruto doesn’t have a name for crossing his face. Mizael flinches, pained, and Tron turns away from the windows to look back at Haruto, his expression mournful.

Chris reaches out a hand but hesitates at Haruto’s surly glare. “Haruto—”

Whatever Chris plans to say, Haruto doesn’t get the chance to hear it, because in that moment the soft whirr of the elevator catches their attention.

A section of the floor glows, then rises, and out steps Kotori. Her hair is pinned back in a messy bun, her glasses tucked in the breast pocket of her coat. She is still holding onto the small stack of papers, her thin arms wrapped securely around the loose sheets.

She surveys the room only once, her expression blank and unsurprised, before she turns to Chris and holds out the stack of documents. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says, sweet and one hundred percent insincere. Her voice is hoarse and rough, a permanent scar from the fires of the First Invasion. “But I really need you to sign these, Chris.”

Chris doesn’t react, just stares her down with a frosty look. “Please leave us, Kotori.”

Slowly, Kotori withdraws the papers, a small frown pulling at the edge of her lips. “Are you in the middle of something of the upmost importance?” she asks, lingering. Her words are ever-so-slightly mocking, deliberately dramatic in a way that expresses her opinion of the situation perfectly.

Chris opens his mouth to answer, his expression thunderous, but Mizael speaks over him. “No,” the Barian says. “Nothing important at all.”

Tron frowns at Mizael but stays silent. Kotori turns to face the Barian, and brief moment of understanding passes between them. She smiles at him, pleased and a little proud. “Is that so?”

She holds out the papers to Chris again, whose expression looks as if it could be carved from a block of ice. It doesn’t faze her in the slightest. “Well then, Chris, if you would…?”

Chris doesn’t move to take them, and when he speaks, his voice is cold. “I said _leave_ , Kotori.”

Kotori doesn’t budge, and her smile looks as if it was plastered on her face. Despite her neutral expression, her eyes smolder. “I really must insist, _V_.”

Chris scowls, his temper worn thin. “Kotori—”

“God _damn_ you, Chris!” Kotori snaps suddenly, striding forward and shoving the papers forcefully into his arms. He’s unprepared for her sudden force and stumbles back, only barely managing to keep hold of the papers.

Kotori jabs a finger at his chest, furious. “You’ve told him this a million times, Chris! He’s heard it again and again, and nothing's changed! Whatever the hell you think you're doing, it's not working! You’re not helping matters at all—and making Haruto hate you is _not_ going to make him listen to you!”

The silence that follows her declaration is heavy with tension. Chris’s eyes are wide, his mouth slack with shock. “Hate…?” he repeats, numbly. His eyes flicker to Haruto in an almost subconscious movement. Haruto stares back, silent.

Chris’s conflicted expression evens out. It’s as if a light has gone off, leaving his face blank and shadowed. He steps away from Kotori, still holding the papers, and turns away, his back to Haruto.

“You are forbidden from all missions for the next three weeks due to your reckless actions. During this time, you are not to leave this building. I will inform the watchmen of the situation.” Chris’s voice is unemotional and empty, practically toneless, an actor reciting his lines without any feeling or emotion. “Now go.”

The resentment bubbles up within him, overpowering the shame for a brief moment. Haruto jumps to his feet, his hands curled into fists and his face flushed with anger.

“Fine!” he spits, and ignores the way Chris flinches and the brief stab of guilt that comes with it. _Haruto’s_ not in the wrong. _Haruto_ can’t be blamed for getting antsy when everyone seems hell-bent on keeping him locked up in this god-forsaken tower. It’s not his fault.

It’s not his fault, see, it’s Chris. Chris and his stupid rules, punishments, and general attitude, and Haruto just wants to _scream_.

So he does, letting the words fly free without a second thought.

“Who cares? It’s not like you ever let me go on missions anyway, you back-stabbing, unfeeling, arrogant—” he runs out of words, out of insults, so instead he yells, frustrated beyond belief, a loud “AAAAAGH” tearing its way from his throat.

Kotori is wide-eyed; Tron is slack-jawed in shock. Mizael stares at Haruto with an expression Haruto’s never seen directed at him before, and he hates it. Chris still hasn’t moved. As if Haruto’s said nothing at all, as though what Haruto says means so little it isn’t even worth his time to try and acknowledge him.

Haruto stares back at them, chest heaving as he gulps for air. He feels his eyes burn, and his throat is tight, to the point where he wonders how he’s breathing. He’s suddenly ashamed, embarrassed and chagrined and hurt, and he’s not sure what he wants other than what he has wanted ever since he walked in. To leave.

So he does.

***

It’s not a graceful exit.

In fact, it’s not much of an exit at all. Haruto outright flees his former room, shoving past Kotori and ignoring Mizael’s calls as he rushes down the elevator and then the halls. He doesn’t want to be followed, doesn’t want to talk, so he runs as far and as fast as he can. Heartland Tower is tall and twisting, and Haruto willingly lets himself get lost in the winding corridors.

Eventually, Haruto runs out of breath.

He stops with great reluctance, supporting himself against the wall and heaving great breaths as he tries to get his heartbeat under control again. His throat burns, and Haruto hopes in vain that he won’t be sick.

When he swipes a hand against his cheek, he’s not surprised it comes back wet with tears. He’s simply glad he didn’t start crying back in the room. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to live that down.

He leans against the wall and slides down, letting his head fall into his arms. He curls up there quietly, and closes his eyes. There is a quiet whirr of a fan a few doors down, but other that, it’s silent. It’s _peaceful_ , and Haruto drinks in the silence for a long while, waiting for his tears to wear out.

When he’s finally calmed down, he forces himself to his feet, wiping his blotchy cheeks dry and sniffling. Haruto has always been a messy crier.

He doesn’t feel better, per say, simply calm and a bit disconnected. It is enough to get him moving at least, so he does. He wanders down the familiar and unfamiliar halls until he reaches a room he recognizes.

He always seems to end up here when he is upset. It’s like he subconsciously knows where the other is, and it’d be funny if it wasn’t always sad.

Haruto knocks on the door of Lab 62, and lets himself without waiting for an answer.

It’s not the cleanest lab; in fact, it holds the record for being the messiest. There are papers scattered hazardly over the numerous desks, books piled high on the floors and stuffed into corners without care. The trash can overflowed ages ago, packed full of wadded paper. There are pen markings on the walls and ink on the floor. It smells like coffee and chemicals, a strange mix that Haruto has all but gone nose-blind to.

Kaito’s lab has always felt more like home than anywhere else in the Tower.

His brother is here too, his head pillowed in his arms as he slumps against the desk, fast asleep. Haruto winces, pulling away, but it’s too late; Kaito’s eyes have already flickered open. His brother is awake.

Haruto feels guilty all over again. Kaito rarely sleeps anymore, stays awake for days at a time until his body finally crashes or Mizael pulls him away. Disturbing Kaito’s brief rest hadn’t been Haruto’s intention.

Kaito looks undeniably pissed when he first wakes, no doubt exhausted and annoyed at being woken up. However, the expression softens when he sees Haruto, and with a weary sigh Kaito pushes away from the desk, combing his messy hair away from his face with one hand.

“Haruto…” he starts, but then he blinks and rubs his eyes, adjusting his glasses subconsciously. The frames have left little red marks from where they have dug into his face, a small ridge near his eyes. Kaito looks at Haruto, seeing the red-rimmed eyes and his miserable expression, and frowns in worry.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Haruto says, and sniffs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Kaito hesitates, his eyes searching Haruto’s face for any clues before he sighs again and pushes up from the desk.

Haruto doesn’t pull away from the hug, but he doesn’t move to reciprocate it either. He merely rests his head against Kaito’s bony shoulder—too thin, worryingly thin—and exhales slowly.

Kaito strokes Haruto’s hair just once, a gesture of comfort performed awkwardly. Neither of them are the same as they once were, and neither quite knows how to deal with the other. Kaito loves Haruto, that much Haruto knows for certain, but Haruto never used to be this bitter or difficult as a child. Carefree and kind, cheerful and outgoing—that is the little brother Kaito remembers.

Sarcastic, moody, and bitter Haruto—his brother is still trying to figure out how that changes things. Which is just fine in Haruto’s opinion, because he’s never quite sure how to deal with Kaito either, though for completely different reasons.

“Do you want to talk about it…?” Kaito offers tentatively, his voice low and apprehensive. Haruto shakes his head, his answer muffled against the thick cloth of Kaito’s lab coat.

“Not really.”

Kaito finally pulls away, still concerned but unwilling to force the issue. “…Hot chocolate?”

Haruto giggles without meaning to, wiping at his eyes to make sure the tears haven’t returned. Hot chocolate has always been Kaito’s go-to for difficult situations. Haruto still doesn’t know if that is because Kaito knows he likes it, or if it’s because of his brother’s own love for the hot drink.

“Sure.”

“All right.” Kaito nods, looking relieved as he makes a short trek through the absolute clutter of his office.

Haruto watches him go, absently kicking at an abandoned folder near his foot. He can hear the quiet whirr of Pollux—Omi’s calmer and more mischievous twin—as she putters about the lab, no doubt cleaning up Kaito’s messes and organizing the data she finds. For all her efforts, the lab never seems to be any cleaner, though the robot never minds. She once told Haruto that she finds it a challenge. The day Kaito’s lab is spotless is the day she wins the silent war between her and paperwork.

Ahh, Pollux. Always a delight to talk too, and he would if he felt up for conversation. Avoiding conversation is what brought him here, however, so instead Haruto stays silent. There is no need to bother Pollux with his woes.

As he waits for Kaito’s return, he looks around the lab, rereading the diagrams and charts pinned to the wall. There is one new note near an old blueprint of a portal. Hurried and rushed, penned in dark red ink, reads the words, ‘ _Astral elements missing, Barian inefficient, substitute in SD?’_

Haruto winces, drawing away. The past three years, ever since Academia’s attack, Kaito had been reaching for one goal. Sure, he’d helped with other projects—designing prosthetics, keeping track of the agents, and countering Academia’s tech—but his primary goal has remained the same since the start: to reopen the portal to the Astral World, and find Yuma Tsukumo.

Haruto has mixed feeling about the whole thing. He misses Yuma. He misses the older boy’s wide, infectious smiles and boundless faith, how even his brother had smirked at his antics. He misses the way Yuma’s clumsy honesty had loosened a tension in Kaito’s shoulders, and that dependable knowledge that even if everything changed, some things about Yuma were permanent. He misses the way Yuma could always bring a grin to everyone’s face, how he always saw the best in people, even those who had never deserved it.

On the other hand, Haruto has been at his brother’s side for almost every step of this project—and he most of all knows what’s it doing to them. Haruto’s “sickness” isn’t the only thing that returned during that fateful day. Kaito’s had come as well, worse than before and with no Code to wipe the effects away.

His brother’s sight had faded completely by the first year, the glasses he wears now the only reason he can still see at all. Nowadays he has trouble hearing, and his motor skills are slowly leaving him as well. Many times Haruto has found Kaito throwing away papers stained with coffee he’d knocked over in a brief lapse in control, or found him bracing himself against the ground after his legs give out on him.

His bad habits probably have something to do with it too. Kaito doesn’t eat nearly as much as he should, and has lost—and is still losing—far too much weight because of it. He is too thin, too tired from staying up two or three nights in a row, functional only because of the massive amounts of caffeine he consumes. It has gotten to the point where if Haruto asks what day it is, or what time, Kaito won’t have the faintest clue.

Haruto wants Yuma to come back. He wants his brother to have his friend back; he wants the hope to return to the empty eyes of the other survivors. He wants, in some strange way, for Yuma to reassure him, that even if Haruto is bitter and cold, sarcastic, and moody, he is still himself. If Yuma comes back… if he comes back, and recognizes Haruto, then maybe it true that some part of him remains as carefree, open, and kind as he used to be.

He just doesn’t want to lose his brother in the process. Not again.

His brother reenters, the loud thump of his footsteps pulling Haruto away from the swirling mess of emotions. Kaito treads back over to him, two cups of hot chocolate held in both hands. Steam rises from the cups, and Haruto can’t even see the drink under the heaps of whipped cream that rest above it. Haruto finds himself smiling despite his dour mood, taking the mug gratefully.

“You remembered,” he notes, and snickers.

“You always did love to drown your drinks in whipped cream,” Kaito murmurs fondly, leaning against his desk. “Even if it wasn’t hot chocolate…”

“I’ll have you know that soda was delicious,” Haruto shoots back, sipping his drink. “You just don’t appreciate my genius.”

Kaito smiles at him, and though Haruto can still see the bone-deep tiredness that lingers behind his blurry blue eyes, it is genuine. Then his gaze slides to where Haruto still stands, by the unintelligible blueprints and the scribbled mess of words, and his smile falters briefly.

Haruto follows his gaze and gingerly steps away from it, angry at the loss of his brother’s smile. Kaito rarely smiles these days, and Haruto treasures every one he manages to coax out of his exhausted and sleep-deprived older brother.

“You’re getting closer, aren’t you?” Haruto blurts suddenly, desperate to try and cheer Kaito up again. It’s been three months since Haruto last actually asked about Kaito’s work, their conversations usually straying away from such a topic. Surely, in that time there must be some improvement.

But Kaito shakes his head, setting down the cup with a sigh as he walks over to join Haruto at the blueprint, his expression set in a grim look of what on others could almost be called defeat.

“No,” he mutters bitterly, taking out the pin that holds the blueprint in place and throwing it carelessly on his desk. “Nothing new. A few leads might have been found, but in all honesty…” he trails off suddenly, blinking at Haruto like he’s only just realized who he’s speaking too, and very quickly adds, “but we’re getting very close to our goal, all things considered.”

The words, though meant kindly, do the opposite of what Kaito probably intends. He is by no means a bad brother—in fact, he’s a wonderful one. Haruto loves his brother, he really does. Kaito has always been by his side, encouraging and kind even if he doesn’t completely approve of Haruto’s actions, and he has never once gotten cross at Haruto for as far back as he can remember.

Yet there has always been something, just one thing that has always managed to drive a wedge between them, whether Kaito knows it or not. With every, “I’m fine”, pained smile, or reassurance that his health is improving or that the portal is one step closer to be completed, the bitterness digs a little deeper, and the chasm becomes a little bit harder to ignore.

Kaito lies.

It’s not the casual little white lies either, the ones that can be quickly forgiven. Kaito’s lies hide dark things, terrible things, under the guise that nothing is wrong. He is willing to do anything for Haruto’s happiness, even if that means lying right to his face. Haruto loves his brother, but he’s long since learned to never fully believe anything Kaito says.

“Right,” he says instead, staring down at his hot chocolate. He doesn’t want it anymore, and the sweetness of the drink rests heavily in his mouth. “That’s—that’s good to hear, Brother. I’m glad.”

Kaito hesitates, sensing he has made a mistake somewhere down the line, but before he can try and confront him about it, the sharp rap of angry footsteps draws both of their attention away. A small part of Haruto is grateful for it— in as much as Kaito’s lies hurt him, he doesn’t want to start a fight. He doesn’t think he could handle that conversation alongside everything else from that day.

A fist bangs loudly at Kaito’s door, a familiar voice rising in irritation. “Kaito, would you mind opening the damn door?”

Mizael, Haruto realizes, and pales. He shoves his half-empty mug at Kaito’s desk, the liquid sloshing over the sides and pooling on half-scribbled papers and old wood.

“Sorry, I feel really tired all of a sudden. Nice chat, goodnight!” Haruto exclaims in a rush, and flees across the office to where he usually sleeps, up the stairs to separate rooms. He ignores Kaito’s startled cry of “Haruto?!” and Mizael’s incredulous, “Wait, that’s where he went?” to instead tear up the stairs into his room.

He skids through the door and slams it shut, leaning against just in case Kaito follows him. He know exactly why Mizael is there, and he doesn’t want to see Kaito’s face when he learns of Haruto’s recent escapade, of his yelling match with Chris and the brutal words Haruto had flung at Kaito’s close friend.

There is a muffled scuffle down below that steals Haruto’s attention, sharp words and muted yelling, then quiet. He listens as they move away from the stairs, evidently respecting his obvious desire to be left alone.

The floor is too thick to listen in on their conversation, not that Haruto wants to anyway. When he is certain neither Kaito nor Mizael have any intention on intruding, he finally moves from the door, his back protesting the awkward position. He collapses into his bed and stares out his window for a long time, watching quietly as the afternoon sun shines through the clouds and then slowly fades as the early night draws in.

He dozes briefly, too high-strung for a deep sleep but too tired to stay awake either. The light dims each time his eyes drift open, and the next time they do so it’s not on a whim but due to the soft noise of ascending footsteps. Outside his window, the sky is pitch black.

The long hours have only increased his desire to avoid confrontation, and Haruto closes his eyes and shifts into a more comfortable position as quietly as he can, sprawling his limps and letting his head go limp against his pillow as he is prone to do. He closes his eyes and evens his breath just as Kaito opens his door.

He hears Kaito enter his room, but doesn’t move, just keeps his limbs still and his breath even and slow. He doesn’t want to talk about his fight with Chris, doesn’t want to risk opening his eyes and seeing the disappointment that will undoubtedly be on his brother’s face.

Kaito walks across the room carefully, his steps careful and measured. He stops at Haruto’s side, and it takes all of Haruto’s concentration to keep his face slack and clear of emotion.

A hand brushes his bangs, and Haruto subconsciously relaxes as Kaito slowly runs his fingers through his hair affectionately. The hand pauses, and Haruto’s breath hitches slightly in the spike of terror that comes with the risk of being found out.

Kaito sighs suddenly, drawing his hand away.

“Sleep well, little brother,” he murmurs. It’s a quiet whipser, almost an afterthought. Haruto keeps still until the sound of his brother’s footsteps fade and he hears the tell-tale click of his door closing.

He turns onto his back and stares up at his ceiling until his eyes adjust to the darkness, until the silence of the night doesn’t seem so daunting. He stares at the dark ceiling until his sore eyes reluctantly slip shut and the shadows pull him down into a restless sleep.

He dreams of a dark room and glowing gold eyes, but when he wakes, he will remember none of it.

***

There is something strange going on in the Tower, and Haruto is once again left in the dark about it.

He’s not entirely sure _why_ he is so convinced of this, except for a few odd coincidences that don’t mesh with what he has come to regard as normal. There are a few too many awkward silences, a few too many guilty glances or odd disappearances. If it was just that, then he’d be able to ignore it, but there are other inconsistencies as well.

It starts the very next morning after his argument with Chris, when Anna and Carla come to visit and Haruto is very rudely woken by someone slapping his face. _Insistently_ slapping his face, for even when he tries to brush them off, their small grubby hands whack his cheeks with more and more force each time, accompanied by the rhythmic chant of “Haruto, Haruto, Harutooooooo!”

Haruto sleepily waves the hands away, attempting to turn over and bury his face into his pillow. The hands yank at his hair, annoyed at his attempts to ignore them.

“Just ten more minutes,” he mumbles, but the next tug is stronger than before and he finally, reluctantly opens his eyes, a yawn cracking his jaw. He hasn’t slept so well in ages, and blearily rubs the crust from his eyes as he tries to regain his bearings, blinking in stunned silence at the gray morning light flooding his window.

There is a very heavy weight on his chest and a very expectant face close to his, a small girl with a shock of blue hair and wide, expressive eyes.

“Hey, Carla…” Haruto murmurs, yawning again as he blinks up at her wearily. “What’s up?”

“The sun~” she yelps, and then hugs him. Her light blue hair—a similar shade to Haruto’s own—is pulled away from her face into two tight pigtails on either side of her head, her dark brown eyes wide-awake and shining in the weak sunlight. She is bright and cheery in contrast to Haruto, who squints at her sunny smile and thinks wistfully of sleep.

“But you’re asleep!” Carla continues, pulling away to study Haruto intently. She pouts at him, confused and a bit annoyed he isn’t as energetic as usual. “ _Why_ are you asleep?”

“’M not asleep _now_ , Carla,” Haruto reminds her, and buries his face into his pillow. “I’d like to be, though…”

She whacks her palm gently but firmly against his cheek again. “No, no! No more sleeping. If the sun is up—”

“I will sleep in place of the sun,” Haruto announces, and drags the covers up and over his head. “ _Bye_.”

Hands yank his blankets away, firmer and stronger than Carla’s.  Robbed of his defense, Haruto glares balefully at Anna, who just grins fiercely at his poisonous look and sits herself at the end of his bed. Age has done her well—she’s a little broader in the shoulders, well-built and stockier compared to Kotori and Cathy. Her shock of pink hair curls around her face, smudged with dirt and oil. She looks as if she’d just walked out from the outside, still smelling strongly of dirt and metal.

Haruto’s annoyance fades, and he finally regains his bearings: Carla perched on his bed like a queen on her throne; Anna with her mess of helmet hair and filthy uniform. Haruto yawns again, rubbing his eyes free of gunk as he slowly pushes himself up. “Anna, Carla… what are you guys doing here?”

 “Kaito let us in,” Anna explains cheerfully, smiling faintly at Carla’s excitement. “Besides, Carla wanted to visit.”

The ten-year-old looks up when she is mentioned, blinking up at them in surprise then breaking out into a smile. “Uh-huh!”

“Kaito let you in,” Haruto repeats slowly, each word hesitant. “A-Ahhh… I see…”

Anna looks a bit surprised at his cautious answer, but doesn’t comment on it, just gently yanks Carla off Haruto’s chest and hugs the squealing child tight. Carla laughs at the manhandling, pecking Anna on the cheek and giving Haruto one last beaming smile before jumping to the ground.

“We have to go now,” she tells Haruto solemnly. “I just wanted to say hi! And be careful, Haru! I don’t want you getting hurt either.”  With her piece said, she skips from the room, humming cheerfully even as Haruto watches her leave, a bemused smile on his lips.

Carla is the jewel of the Numbers Force, their little princess. In a way, she is their angel, and all the members do their part to keep her untainted by the war with Academia. Carla, with her messy crayon drawings and unattainable dreams, carries with her a light untouched by the war. She brings smiles to the faces of the wounded, laughter to those who have long since lost hope.  IV especially has grown close to her, and by extension Anna as well—after all, Carla _is_ her niece.

Ummi and Tobi would be proud of their daughter, Haruto is sure of it. Carla’s endless faith and optimism has remained largely unchanged by Academia’s invasion, even though she has lost both of her parents. She seems to have found a new father in IV, of all people. Haruto still isn’t sure how that came to be.

Carla is one of the few people Haruto knows who doesn’t keep secrets. Indeed, the child strives not to, claiming that is a job for the rest of them. It is why her parting words turn his slight smile to a frown, and why he pins Anna with a suspicious look. Carla never says anything without reason for it.

 “Is something wrong?”

Anna winces, scowling faintly at the door and standing. “That kid,” she mutters, then eyes Haruto worriedly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

The years have left their mark on Anna, just as they have everyone else in Haruto’s life. This war has done nothing but extinguish the fire in everyone he knows—Mizael, Alit, Kaito—and to see Anna—proud, fiery Anna who rushes into trouble headfirst and whose never quite got over her knee-jerk reaction to blowing things up—to see her like this, tired and almost defeated, if he’d dare place such a label on her, is painful to witness.

She is still a terrible liar though. The war most certainly hasn’t changed _that_.

“Really?” Haruto questions, incredulous. “Are you sure? You and Carla don’t visit that often since you have the communicators…and Akari replaced them, didn’t she? So why are you guys here?”

Anna stares at him, wide-eyed and panicked, and then she beams. Her eye is twitching. “Hah! Must be your imagination—anyway! I’m very busy, gotta run, maybe we’ll catch you later, right? Good! Be good! Bye!”

Before Haruto can protest, he is treated to a hasty wave and a mumbled goodbye, and Anna is out the door before he can even think to follow her.

It’s not just Anna and Carla either. Kaito works more vigorously, and Omi seems to hover over him and tries to dissuade him from trouble more insistently than he’s used to. Even Pollux seems worried, the usually carefree robot now easily distracted by the smallest noises, and constantly pacing about the Tower. Maybe Anna is right. Maybe it is his imagination, but the more he looks around, the more he sees things out of place.

The final straw is Mizael.

In all honesty, it’s not like Haruto plans to sneak out. His restlessness is expected and dutifully ignored, and Kaito willingly helps in distracting him. Haruto spends his hours reacquainting himself with the scientists, passing along messages, packages, and fresh cups of coffee. It’s fun, even if Haruto glances one too many times at the window, even if his foot never stops moving when he tries to stand still. He is not yet eager enough to risk sneaking out just yet—not with the sting from the last fight still healing and Kaito’s own cautious warnings against it.

In truth, the fault is Mizael’s, for when Haruto, in a fit of desperation for another distraction, asks where his mentor has disappeared off too, he learns that Mizael has—amazingly—chosen to take a mission out in the field.

At heart, Mizael is warrior. Or at least, he used to be, before he lost everything for the fourth time in his numerous lives, before he remembered what it was like to watch your world be burned away by flames. The battles of his past have scarred him, and the evidence lies in the way Mizael shudders when he sees open flame, his subtle flinch at flying objects, and the way he regards his deck, an expression of half-reluctance and half-pride. Mizael is scarred, and the battlefield is no longer his home.

The fact he has taken a mission— _voluntarily_ taken a mission—out on the field is… odd. It is more than that; it’s suspicious, and the curiosity tugs at Haruto’s mind for hours.

It doesn’t help when he enters Kaito’s lab and sees the screen monitoring the Elite’s movements, and finds a moving red dot in the former city slums labelled ‘Mizael’.

Mizael isn’t even part of the Elite, had outright declined Tron’s offer and unlike Kotori, hadn’t ever gone back on it. The fact he is on the screen, the fact he is on a mission in the first place—the whole thing rubs Haruto the wrong way. Despite Anna’s warning, he can’t help but feel as though he’s _missing_ something, something he can only discover if he ventures out these walls.

Something Mizael might have the answer to.

Haruto lasts three days. On the night of what would be the fourth, he slips past his sleeping brother and steals into the night. He bribes Pollux into silence, and with her help is free from Omi for however long he remains out. The electronic map blinks in his pocket, and he follows the little red dot labeled “Mizael”.

As always, he thinks he should feel guilty. All he feels is free.

***

The destruction of Heartland, while it did create many resistance groups, did little to curb the crime rings that dwelled in the shadows of the Heartland’s light. Even now, they still roam the streets, every bit as dangerous as Academia, and every bit as ruthless. The only real change is that they’ve slowly migrated from the city’s shadows to the city itself, which makes it difficult to track them.

Even so, Numbers Force has done its best to mark the locations of the largest gangs, if only to know whose territory they were intruding and if the people they were helping would stab them  in the back or not. It’s not hard for Haruto to recognize the location as the property of one of the largest gangs. He has always done his best to avoid them, if only to give Chris one less thing to yap at him about, and can now recognize them on sight.

It is even easier for him to sneak in past the guards, keeping to the twilight shadows, then hidden by the darkness of the base itself. Finding a pillar to crouch behind so he can eavesdrop on Mizael’s conversation with the leader? Well, that’s easy too.

Haruto just never expected to get caught.

“I said I was sorry!” Haruto babbles desperately, squirming in Mizael’s grasp. His mentor has a tight grip on the back of his collar, and is dragging him down the halls of the base like an overgrown kitten. It’s quite possibly one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to him, and the amused snickering of the gang members as they pass doesn’t help matters at all.

“Sorry,” Mizael snaps, eyes determinedly fixed straight ahead towards the exit, “changes _nothing_.”

Behind them, Akari follows, making no effort to hide her smug laughter. She’d been with Mizael for this mission, apparently, and had been the one to find and call Haruto out. Haruto isn’t exactly surprised—Akari hates it when people eavesdrop, do stupid things, or simply act like Yuma in general—and Haruto has just done all three. It doesn’t stop him from trying to give her the evil eye though.

“How many more times do you want me to—?”

“Shut up, Haruto.”

He quiets, briefly stunned at the harsh response, and a little stung too. He didn’t mean to make Mizael mad; all he wants is answers—but in searching for them, all he seems to have accomplished is getting everyone upset at him _again_.

He stays that way, silent and as cooperative as one can be when being dragged out by the scruff of their neck, only managing a half-hearted wave when Akari quickly departs.

“I’ll meet you at the next spot then?” she asks Mizael, donning her helmet. “You’re going to drop Haruto off back at the Tower, aren’t you?”

“If I don’t,” Mizael says icily, “there is no guarantee he’ll go back.”

Haruto winces. Even Akari, angry as she is, seems a bit sympathetic. “Go easy on him,” she offers tiredly, but says no more than that, driving off without another backward glance. They watch the fading dust trail of her departure, and then once more Haruto finds himself being dragged off.

This time, he successfully twists from Mizael’s hold, climbing to his feet clumsily. Mizael doesn’t try to help him up, watching him with flinty eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Haruto says again, quietly. “I just… I saw you took a mission, and I…”

Mizael scoffs, cutting him off and continuing to walk. Haruto pauses, biting his lip and staring after him hesitantly, before catching up.

“You wanted to know what was going on,” Mizael finishes tiredly, and breathes out slowly, his face dark in a way that has nothing to do the night’s gloom.

“Everyone’s been acting weird lately,” Haruto admits quietly, still unsure if he has been forgiven or not. “On edge and all. Like you’re all waiting for something to go wrong. Chris, Kaito, Kotori, Anna… even you.”

“Hmmph,” is Mizael’s answer to this, but then he sighs and glares at Haruto from the corner of his eye. Haruto can hardly see him in this darkness. Night has fallen completely by now, and the shadows swallow everything in their wake. How Mizael even knows where they’re going in this pitch black is a mystery to Haruto.

I suppose,” Mizael murmurs quietly and reluctantly, “that I can give you answers. I won’t answer every question, mind you, just the basics. In return, you need to do me a favor.”

“Deal,” Haruto says without protest. He wants answers far more than he needs to worry about a deal. It’s not like Mizael will deliberately put him in danger or anything similar.

“All right then. What do you want to know?”

Haruto nods slowly, biting his lip. He has always wanted to be included, but despite finally being given answers all he feels is dread. “Did someone die?” he asks finally, voice quiet and choked.

“What?” Mizael splutters, baffled. “No! Well,” he pauses, mulling over the question. “No one you know, anyway.”

Haruto nods again, curling his arms around himself in a failed attempt to ward off the cold. “And… who killed them?”

Mizael takes another long breath and lets it out slowly. “Have you heard anything about a… rogue Academia duelist these past few days?”

Haruto shrugs one shoulder, playing with a loose thread on his coat as his worry increases. It’s unlike Mizael to be this avoiding of a subject. “Just that the Synchro duelists were having a bit of a tangle with one. Akari said so, anyway. She said… she said they were handling it.”

Mizael raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Akari did, huh? That’s more than I thought you’d know. ”

“What?”

Mizael sighs, curling one strand of long hair through his gloved fingers as he speaks. “That’s mostly right, what she said to you. But… it’s a lot more than just a tangle.”

Haruto eyes him, wary and confused. “What is it then?” he finally prods, quiet and hushed.

 “That’s not exactly what’s going on.”

“It’s not?”

“No. Frankly, we’re losing. Badly, too.” He scowls down at the cobblestone. “We don’t know where they are, who they are, what their aim is, or when they’re going to hit us next. They’re bold, they’re brash, and there’s no pattern to their attacks. It’s random. We can’t predict…anything.” His voice cracks on the last word, not out of grief but frustration.

Haruto twists his fingers, knuckles white. His first instinct is to deny Mizael’s words—how on earth could they know so little? Why had Akari lied to him?—but he knows Akari has always seen them as brothers and sister to be protected, and knows Mizael would never twist the truth. Not to him, at least.

So he bites back on his vehement denial, and says instead, “Why are you telling me this? Not that I’m complaining! But…”

Mizael smiles at him, sad and knowing. “Because you’re a free spirit, Haruto. You can’t be confined in these walls. You’ve never let them. You’ve always been so willing to escape this cage, this protection of yours. I get that.”

 He pauses again. “However, as long as that…rogue, as long as they’re out there, you need to stay at the Tower, Haruto. You need to stay safe.”

Haruto stiffens. “You want me to stop sneaking out, is what you’re saying.”

“Just until we get rid of him,” Mizael replies calmly. “Haruto, listen. He knows where our base is; he knows our faces. It’s not safe.”

“It’s never safe!” Haruto snaps back. “Never! Why is this any—?”

“Because he knows our faces!” Mizael snarls back, his words harsh and angry. “Because if they see you—if they catch you—God, Haruto, he could follow you back here and you’d never know!”

“But—”

“Are you really willing to risk all our lives just for a brief taste of freedom?!”

That shuts him up. Haruto gapes at his mentor, shocked and trembling slightly. “I… No! Of course not! It’s just…”

“Then understand,” Mizael hisses viciously. “I’m not asking for the world, Haruto. Not even for the rest of your life. Just for a bit of time.”

His voice softens. “Can you do that for me?”

“I—” Haruto starts, then bites his lip and looks down, struggling to make out the swirling patterns of the cobblestone in the dim lighting. “I… all right. I will.” Every word is an effort to speak.

Mizael relaxes. It’s becoming easier to see, and Haruto knows they are approaching the base. Soon, they’ll run into the guards. Haruto isn’t looking forward to it. Hopefully he’ll be able to avoid another confrontation with Chris.

Mizael looks down at him, then reaches out a hand and ruffles Haruto’s hair in one quick movement, fond and practiced. “It won’t be forever,” Mizael starts to say, but then stops mid-word, his shoulders stiffening. Haruto nearly runs into him, but a moment later he knows just why Mizael has stopped so suddenly.

The thick coppery stench of spilled blood hangs heavy in the night air, the silence surrounding them unnatural and chilling. It’s broken only by the steady drip of a liquid on the stones, and the wet, rasping gasps of someone in pain.

Fear seizes his heart, and Haruto dashes forward, dodging Mizael’s attempts to keep him back. He skids around the corner, nearly falling in his haste, and when his eyes finally adjust—

“Tetsuo,” Haruto croaks, and starts to shake, tears burning in his wide, disbelieving eyes.

The friendly guard that had always shared Haruto’s faith in Yuma—who had kept them safe and sound for the past three years, who had laughed, smiled, and lightened the mood when no one else had the spirit to—hangs limply from the broken streetlight he has always stood by. A long metal pole is embedded in his stomach, and a rope twists around his neck, hanging him from the metal neck of the lamp. His blood drips slowly to the earth below him, a puddle of it gradually expanding beneath his feet. The flickering light illuminates his pale face, his bloodless lips, and the emptiness of his unseeing eyes.

Mizael walks behind him, griping his shoulders and pulling him away from the scene. He is shaking as much as Haruto is, and in the light his face is drawn, pale, and so very angry. It is a cold, merciless anger, the kind of which Haruto has only seen once before, the day of the First Invasion. He would feel a mock pity for the one on the other end of such anger, if he didn’t already feel so lifeless.

As lifeless as Tetsuo is now.                                            

“Haruto,” Mizael says, and his voice is detached. It’s as though he’s speaking from a million miles away. “Haruto. Find Kaito. Alert the rest of the Elite. The rogue,” and here, his voice breaks off. It’s not from anger, frustration, or even grief—it’s as though he has run out of words altogether.

“The rogue has found the base,” Haruto finishes in a harsh whisper, and scarlet burns at the edge of his blurry vision. He does not wait for Mizael’s reply,  just tears himself away and flees to the inside of the Tower, as though the murderer themselves is at his heels. He runs and shouts warnings at anyone he stumbles across, and the scarlet burns at his vision but never any farther, held back by the void in Haruto’s soul, by the tears that stream down his cheeks.

Haruto runs, and still cannot escape the sight of Tetsuo’s hanging corpse, his lifeless eyes and the sound of his blood as it dripped upon the ground he had given his life to protect.

 

_::To Be Continued::_

**Author's Note:**

> 38 pages of pain. 
> 
> (In other words I'm very sorry.)


End file.
